


When I am with you, there's no place I'd rather be

by cloudlesslysky



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5 times + 1 time format, Allergic reaction, Allergies, Humour, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Not Epilogue Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23068933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudlesslysky/pseuds/cloudlesslysky
Summary: Harry's got everything planned, he knows just how it's all going to go down, and he can't wait. He's going to propose to Draco, and nothing will stand in his way.Or: five (5) times Harry Potter tried to propose to Draco Malfoy and the one (1) time he succeeded.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 397





	When I am with you, there's no place I'd rather be

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to GallifreyisBurning for beta-reading this for me and dealing with my typos, missing commas, and lovely cases of swipe keyboard not doing what I want it to!
> 
> Title from the song Rather Be by Clean Bandit.

Harry is so fucking ready.

He doesn't think he's been more ready for anything else in his _life_ than he is for this.

He's got the ring (specially tailored to not just Draco's sense of taste, but also to be able to serve as an heirloom going forward _and_ not clash with Draco's family ring).

He's got permission from the parents, no matter how weird and archaic that feels (and wasn’t that just about one of the most uncomfortable conversations he's ever had with Narcissa and _Lucius_? He's actually quite sure Lucius might have said no if Narcissa hadn't been so immediately thrilled).

He's got the date, time, and place all planned and ready (Draco's favourite restaurant, tomorrow, right after dinner but before dessert).

He's even managed to keep it a secret from Draco (easier said than done considering that Draco is—no matter how much he may protest—both nosy and a gossip. He also happens to have an eagle eye for any and all changes to their flat).

All in all, Harry's feeling really good about it (especially since he knows that he won't get turned down; Draco and Pansy had a long conversation regarding weddings and their intendeds just last week that Harry luckily happened to overhear).

He just needs to keep it together for another day, and then he’ll be home free. He’d almost popped the question during breakfast just because Draco looked so beautiful in the morning light, almost snorting with laughter at Harry’s not-actually-that-good joke.

Harry had just looked at him then and knew, _again,_ that he wanted to spend the rest of his life watching Draco laugh at his dumb jokes.

It wasn’t something he’d ever really thought he’d get to have—when the war was at its worst, Harry was quite certain he’d never make it through, and that even if he did, he’d never be happy again—but now that he has it, he wants to grab onto it with both hands and never let it go.

It’s been a long road here—saying that Harry and Draco didn’t start out on the best of terms would be an understatement—but Harry knows it’s been worth it. Every fight, every tear, every apology, until they finally settled into themselves and their relationship; until finally the force of their love and passion seemed to have finally smoothed out the rough edges of their shared past.

Draco won't be back from work for a while yet, so Harry takes a bit of time to just gaze at the ring he had customised. It's lovely, and he can't wait to see it on Draco's finger.

  


* * *

**1.**

* * *

  


Harry's so anxious he could puke—which is, admittedly, making eating dinner a bit more of a chore than it should be. Especially since he's trying to appear unaffected and calm, just a man enjoying a date with his boyfriend, rather than a manic wreck who's acting very suspiciously.

Draco doesn't seem to have noticed, luckily, and is instead regaling Harry with a tale from work as he waves his fork around in the air as if to really drive home his point.

Harry stares at him as he talks, hopelessly in love with this dramatic man and his utterly engaging way of telling a story. Draco never just _tells_ stories, he _lives_ them _,_ just as much as he did when they first happened. He waves his hands, he rolls his eyes, he tosses his hair… he does so many things that should make him look ridiculous, but they only serve to remind Harry why he loves him.

Harry used to think he wanted and needed someone like Ginny, but they’d realised fairly quickly after the war that they made better friends and siblings than they did a romantic couple. He doesn’t regret the relationship they had, though, because Harry loves Ginny and they both learned a lot about themselves through it—like the fact that Ginny doesn’t want children, but Harry absolutely does. If they’d stayed together, one of them would have needed to compromise. Harry sometimes wonders how well that would have worked out for them.

Still. He’s pretty sure that Ginny’s much happier with her current boyfriend, _and_ she’s happier now that Harry’s on the cusp of marriage. He ran the ring by her, because she’s always had an eye for things that would make Draco’s eyes sparkle without being so ostentatious and overdone they would make anyone else roll their eyes and want to die.

Ginny and Draco also somehow became really good friends and partners in crime—whenever Pansy’s visiting from Rome, she joins up, and then it’s just intolerable; Harry usually ends up fleeing to Ron and Hermione’s when _that_ happens.

Sometimes Harry wonders if maybe Draco stays with him just to keep being friends with Ginny… but not really.

Still, having Ginny’s seal of approval on the ring and the proposal itself is a relief. Pansy had Opinions too, but Harry tuned her out. She’s been Draco’s friend longer than anyone, but for some reason she just doesn’t understand his taste and refuses to accept that she doesn’t. It’s a standing joke among the rest of them at this point, and Draco doesn’t mind getting gifts that are very much Not To His Taste… but only if they’re from Pansy. No one else gets any sort of leeway.

If not for the fact that Ginny helped Harry make sure everything would be Just Right, he would probably be even more nervous right now. If that’s even possible. He’s got a plate of his favourite French food he can’t pronounce in front of him, and he can barely eat it. That really says it all.

Of course, if he doesn’t get a move on, it’ll never be Before Dessert, and Draco will _definitely_ notice that something is wrong.

He starts to shovel his food into his mouth, somehow just barely managing to appreciate the delicious taste of it all, even as he watches Draco intently. At least Draco hasn’t finished his meal either, distracted as he is by story-telling.

Everything is going to be _just fine_.

Turns out things are _not_ just fine.

Just as Harry opens his mouth to begin, once their plates have been taken away and dessert ordered…

“Draco, there’s… Something I want to ask you. Something important.”

“Yes?” Draco’s eyes are glittering in the candle light as he leans his head on his fist, his lips curled in a beautiful smile.

It’s such a beautiful sight that Harry’s momentarily distracted.

And it’s one moment too long.

Suddenly, there’s loud screaming and chaos, and Harry watches in horror as the servers suddenly start yelling at everyone to leave the restaurant _right now, tout de suite_ because there is a _fire_ in the _kitchen_ and magic won’t put it out!

Harry and Draco end up standing huddled together outside of the restaurant along with all the other guests, watching in disbelief as the staff—and soon Ministry wizards as well—cast spell after spell to try and put out the fire.

Harry has no idea what the hell they were doing in the kitchen to end up with some sort of magic resistant fire, but it just ruined his proposal, so he’s absolutely less than pleased about it.

Draco leans into him then, and Harry wraps his arm around him. He doesn’t sigh in frustration, but it’s a near thing. At least the ring is still in his pocket, he concludes, discreetly patting it.

“Harry?”

“Hm? Yeah?” Harry looks down at Draco, but he’s still staring at the chaos in front of them.

“You were about to ask me something important. What was it?”

For the briefest of moments, Harry considers just blurting the words out. Considers just asking Draco right here and now—surrounded by scared strangers, people trying to put out a fire, and standing in front of the scene of their favourite restaurant going up in flames—damn all the plans and how special he wanted to make the proposal. But Draco shivers in his arms, and Harry remembers that he still doesn’t do well with uncontrolled fires… and the end of the war—the Fiendfyre—is the last thing he wants Draco to be thinking about when he proposes.

So instead of blurting it out, possibly cheapening what should be an important moment for them, he blurts out something completely different:

“What do you think about kneazles?”

It’s not the dumbest thing he’s ever said, but it’s definitely up there.

Draco’s silent for a long time, and then he chuckles and turns in Harry’s arms. As soon as they’re chest-to-chest, Draco presses a kiss against Harry’s lips.

“Harry…” There’s a smirk on Draco’s lips, and he draws circles with his finger against Harry’s left pectoral. “Did you adopt a kneazle?”

Harry stares at his boyfriend, sees that glitter in his eyes again, and how _pleased_ he seems by the idea. Well… _Well._

Harry clears his throat. “No… I just…” He doesn’t quite know how to get out of this one. “That’s something we should do _together,_ don’t you think?”

Draco laughs and kisses him again.

“And when were you planning to take me kneazle shopping?”

“Next week?” Harry’s thoughts are running a mile a minute and he’s just grateful Draco hasn’t felt the ring box in his pocket. If Draco wants a kneazle, then Draco’s getting a kneazle.

So.

No proposal of marriage, but one accidental proposal of kneazle adopting later, Harry finds himself with an ecstatic Draco absolutely _doting_ over the pure white kneazle he named Cassiopeia.

Harry’s proposal may have been a bust this time around, but the whole “getting a kneazle” thing was clearly a stroke of genius.

Seeing Draco dote and fuss so completely over the kneazle, no doubt the same way he would dote on a child of theirs, makes something clench in Harry’s chest, and he watches—helplessly in love—as his boyfriend remains entirely enchanted with the kneazle.

It all only makes him _even more determined_ to propose to Draco.

Merlin, he wants to marry this man.

  


* * *

**2.**

* * *

  


Harry’s second attempt is going to be during a picnic.

Spring is really showing its best side, and Harry knows that Draco, for all his poshness, does so love the outdoors. Well, not the “ _wild”_ outdoors—Harry’s not going to get him mountain climbing any time soon—but the kind of outdoors that a well cultivated garden or lovingly cared for field constitutes.

It’s extra lucky that the lands around Malfoy Manor are sprawling enough that they can enjoy a lovely picnic among its lushness without risking running into Draco’s parents.

As much as Harry gets along… _ish_ with Lucius these days, and as much as Narcissa is lovely, Harry really doesn’t want to propose in front of them. However, he’s sure Draco would appreciate being proposed to here in Wiltshire, on the Malfoy lands.

So off they go for a walk, Harry carrying the basket that’s been enchanted with a bit of wizard space to contain all of the food and blankets Draco’s house elf Mipsy had forced on them once she heard what they were planning.

As long as Kreacher doesn’t find out—he’ll be in a bad mood forever if he finds out he wasn’t consulted for the food meant for a proposal to someone of Black blood—that’s just fine with Harry.

They find a lovely spot: just enough sun and shade and with protection from the worst of the wind.

Harry watches Draco’s wind tousled hair as it gleams in the sun and his flushed face as he laughs at the spread of foods and desserts that Harry’s taking out of the basket one by one and falls all over again.

His proposal at their favourite restaurant may have failed, but this is even more perfect.

This time… this time, nothing is going to get in the way. There’s no kitchen where the cooks can attempt something as bloody crazy as cooking with Fiendfyre, after all!

The food is delicious, and as soon as he’s full, Harry’s going to do it. He’s going to do it when they’re eating dessert this time.

He’s seen Draco eye those lovely looking pastries with whipped cream on top, and the idea of proposing to Draco when he’s got whipped cream on his nose makes something warm spread through Harry’s entire chest.

Harry takes a bite of his own pastry, just to psych himself up, and closes his eyes to properly enjoy the tastes that explode across his tongue. He thinks he tastes the tangy flavour of grapefruit, contrasting nicely with the sweetness of the meringue and whipped cream.

He smiles to himself. This is it.

He turns to Draco, hand moving towards his pocket to bring out the ring, when he notices that Draco’s wearing a pained facial expression.

“Draco?”

He doesn’t answer Harry, instead dropping his pastry right into his own lap—something Draco would _never_ do willingly—as his hands come up toward his neck and face.

“Draco!” Harry drops his own pastry and moves over to his boyfriend, trying to see what’s wrong. Harry feels like his heart is beating out of his chest and standing still at the same time. Is Draco choking on something?

Draco’s wheezing, and when Harry looks closer, his lips look swollen and he’s scratching at his throat.

“Are you choking? Draco?!” It feels like Harry’s thoughts are moving through _stone_. He’s not used to thinking in emergencies anymore.

Draco shakes his head wildly, and draws another loud and wheezing breath, an almost desperate sound.

“Allergy… you’re… you’re having an allergic reaction. Merlin!” Harry pulls Draco into his arms. “Hold onto me tightly. I’m going to apparate us to St Mungo’s. Just… _keep breathing, Draco_.”

  


* * *

  


Harry sits slumped in one of the uncomfortable chairs in the St Mungo’s waiting room. The healers had whisked Draco away immediately, casting spell after spell, and Harry hasn’t seen or heard anything since.

He’s driving himself mad with worry, but he doesn’t know what to do. There’s nothing he _can_ do.

He was so slow! He… he didn’t even…

What if Draco… all because Harry didn’t...

“Mr. Potter?” A gentle voice comes from somewhere to Harry’s left.

His head flies up and he finds himself staring at a calm looking nurse. She smiles at him.

“Mr. Malfoy gave us permission to share some information with you, though you’re technically not family—”

Not for lack of trying on Harry’s part. Jesus. Draco nearly…

“—And you got him here quickly enough that there’s nothing to worry about. He’s still a bit groggy, I’m afraid, as the spells and potions we give for allergic reactions can take a bit out of you. Not to mention the reaction itself.” She smiles again. “Not to worry though, he’ll be just fine as long as he avoids grapefruit in the future.”

Harry wheezes out a relieved laugh.

“I’m never letting him get _near_ one ever again.”

The nurse laughs and shakes her head.

“As long as he doesn’t ingest it or get it on his mouth area, he’ll be fine. We also checked for any other allergies, but it’s just grapefruit, so that’s lucky. It could have been worse if it were a common potion ingredient.”

Harry nods, relief spreading through his chest, but he’s also left feeling exhausted. He’s been so stressed and worried that he’s tied himself up in knots imagining the worst possible outcome.

“When can I see him?”

“I can take you to his room immediately, if you’d like.”

Harry nods and gets to his feet, though his legs feel unsteady.

Draco’s reclining on a hospital bed and looks pale and wrung out when Harry enters the room.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs as he takes a seat next to Draco’s bed. “How are you feeling?”

Harry gently pulls Draco’s hand into his own and kisses his knuckles, chest still feeling slightly tight at the knowledge that he could have lost him just now. They lived through the second war with Voldemort, made a new life for themselves, overcame so much… to have Draco die now because of a fucking grapefruit would have been beyond anything Harry could have handled.

Draco gives him a wan smile. “Let’s never eat grapefruit again.”

Harry laughs softly. “I am not letting you go near one from now on.” He pauses, and glances away. “As much as I love you, I’m still making you explain things to Mipsy. She’s going to be distraught.”

Draco’s eyes widen and he stares at Harry in mute horror.

“How _dare_ you claim you love me and then spring something like that on me? You _wretch!”_

Harry laughs; the tightness finally goes away and the relief feels like a shining light in his chest.

He’ll need to figure something else out for his proposal.

  


* * *

**3.**

* * *

  


So, two attempts at a proposal have been complete disasters, but they do say that the third time’s the charm, don’t they?

Harry knows he can get this whole thing together, knows he can make Draco the happiest man alive—Harry will even agree to some of the more outlandish wedding ideas Draco will no doubt come up with just to make him happy—he just needs to manage to finally propose.

He’s kind of given up on the idea of a perfect proposal, but he still wants it to be good. He wants it to be something Draco can look back on years later with a smile on his face. There won’t be any pictures, because as much as Draco thrives on drama and spectacle, Harry wants something more private for the proposal.

Of course, a restaurant—like his first attempt—isn’t the most private of places, but he’d planned to do it quietly without drawing any attention to them. That… that would have been good enough, he thought. But the restaurant failed (though they did get a kneazle out of it) as did his attempt at the picnic (though in that case it was more that Draco nearly _died_ before Harry even got anywhere with the question).

He’s not going to do anything fancy like that this time, just a lovely meal at home—one Harry is cooking _himself_ to make sure that there will be no need for any visits to the hospital and no need to put out any fires. This time, it’s going to work out just fine.

He _is,_ however _,_ going to hide the ring inside the dessert—with a charm to make sure there’s no way Draco might swallow it or choke on it or anything of the sort, of course. Harry has had _quite enough_ of Draco having trouble breathing right when Harry plans to propose.

This is going to be the time Harry gets it right. Or, rather, when the _universe_ gets it right, rather than spectacularly wrong.

Cassiopeia rubs herself against his legs as he continues to cook and prepare. He hums a tune to himself and keeps one eye on the clock. As soon as the food is ready, he casts some stasis charms on the plates—decked out beautifully as they are—and then he starts to set the table.

Flowers in a vase, lit candles…

Yeah, Harry’s pulling out all the stops, and he doesn’t even _care_ if Draco notices. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has set up a romantic evening for the other. Of course, Draco’s tends to be less ostentatious, but that’s just because he knows that’s what Harry wants.

Draco, of course, likes to have a big show made of everything. He _thrives_ on attention and elegant spectacles.

Right on time, as always, Draco steps inside their apartment.

“I’m home!” he calls out as he hangs his outer robe in the hallway. Harry smiles and puts the steaming plates on the table.

"Welcome home! Dinner is ready." He smiles at Draco, happily taking in the way his eyes widen in delight.

"You've cooked! I _love_ your cooking!"

Harry doesn't cook often, even though he's found that he likes it a lot more now, in adulthood, when he does it for himself and people he loves rather than being forced to do it for other people who he doesn't like and who definitely don't like him.

Still, he lives a life surrounded by House elves—however weird that still is to him—so he’s simply gotten used to the fact that there is someone else who wants to cook and will likely get upset if he does it himself. So, special occasions only it is.

Dinner is lovely, and Draco’s practically glowing all the way through, making Harry’s heart soar. All that’s left now is for him to bring in the desserts and everything will be _perfect_.

He’s done it, and he couldn’t be more excited. With two failed attempts at his back, he’s not even nervous anymore; he’s just determined now.

“Let me go get the desserts from the kitchen,” he says and gets to his feet.

Draco, resting his face in his hands, smiles up at him.

“Do you need help with anything?”

Harry shakes his head and with a swift flick of his wand makes the dirty plates and cutlery float into the kitchen towards the sink. “No, I’ve got it. You just sit tight.”

He leaves a happily humming Draco in the dining room and heads into the kitchen. He makes the dishes gently float into the sink, sets up the spells to make them clean themselves—always nice to have the kitchen _clean_ by the time they come back to it—and heads towards the fridge.

Well, it’s not _actually_ a fridge—it’s a cupboard with inlaid magic spells to keep food at the optimal temperature to stay fresh—but Harry grew up Muggle, so he always thinks of it as a fridge anyway. Same with the freezer equivalent.

He opens and takes out the two chocolatey treats he ordered from the closest fancy bakery—they were really accommodating about the ring; Harry thinks they must get that a lot—and smiles. They look really good, and considering Draco’s sweet tooth…

Well… they both have a sweet tooth if Harry’s being honest with himself, but it’s fine.

He places both of them on a tray to carry it out into the dining room with a bit of flair…

And then disaster strikes.

He trips on his own goddamn feet and goes down like a sack of potatoes, both desserts smashing against the floor in a big mess of chocolate and glass.

“Harry?!” Draco’s voice comes immediately from the dining room, clearly worried, and is soon followed by footsteps.

Harry doesn’t answer, however; he’s too busy staring at the absolute disaster that is his third failed proposal. The ring isn’t visible in the mess, at least—so Draco won’t see it and Harry will have another chance—but that's about where the good news ends.

There’s just no way for him to salvage this.

“Harry, what… Oh.” Draco stops in the doorway and winces at the mess on the floor.

“Don’t come inside, I’ll clean it up,” Harry says, feeling utterly dejected. It was all going so smoothly before this.

“Are you alright? You didn’t get hurt, did you?” Draco’s voice is soft, the way it only ever is when Harry’s upset and what he’s upset about _isn’t_ the fact that Draco’s in a snit about something or other.

“Yeah, I just… tripped.” He shrugs and scratches his head, only barely refraining from screaming in frustration.

“How about this: while you clean this up, I’ll go Floo-order some new desserts for us, okay?” Draco smiles.

Harry realises with a small start that Draco probably thinks that Harry is really disappointed about losing out on the desserts. He has no idea what the whole plan actually was.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” Harry smiles. That, at least, will be a bit of comfort.

Draco leaves the kitchen to head to the Floo, and Harry looks back down at the disaster on the floor. Nothing to do but vanish and scourgify everything except the ring itself. There’s no point in trying to repair the two glass bowls.

He hides the ring away in his pocket once more.

Next time.

Next time _for sure_.

  


* * *

**4.**

* * *

  


The less he talks about the fourth attempt, the better. Harry has no interest in so much as even remembering the complete disaster that it turned into.

Stupid geese.

  


* * *

**5.**

* * *

  


He can’t believe this is his _fifth_ damn attempt. He’s failed to even get the question out _five times_. Ginny’s been eyeing him weirdly lately, but he doesn’t want to admit to her the complete hash he’s managed to make out of all of this.

Well, not all of it has been his fault, obviously. He didn’t set the restaurant on fire and he _definitely_ didn’t make Draco terribly allergic to grapefruits. The geese… okay, that was kind of on Harry.

Still, he really needs to get it done. He just… he wants to hear Draco say “yes” so damn badly it’s driving him nuts. He’s tried to propose four times and failed every time—he hasn’t even managed to get the question out!

At this point, he’d almost rather get a ‘No’ than fail one more time.

… Well, not really, because he _wants_ to marry Draco, so of course he doesn’t want Draco to turn his marriage proposal down. However, he doesn’t want to botch another proposal either. It’s become almost silly, and it’s actually starting to get painful.

At least he hasn’t been doing it in public, and people haven’t known about any but his first attempt. If he’d told everyone, he’d be both frustrated _and_ embarrassed.

However, Harry has learned from his mistakes. This time… this time there will not be any kitchen fires, no allergies, no food dropped on the ground, _no geese_ … no. This time, everything will be _perfect_.

The nature around them is amazing, and Draco is watching it with avid interest, barely able to take his eyes off it. They’re only on a short vacation, so they definitely have to find as much enjoyment as they possibly can in just the few days they have… and Harry is _definitely_ going to make the most of it.

A burst of sound almost startles them, and a whole swarm of butterflies take to the skies with multicolored wings. Draco gasps and snaps some photos with the magical camera they brought with them.

This is it, Harry thinks. This is the moment.

As Draco stares at the magnificent view, Harry reaches for the ring. His hand goes into his pocket… and finds nothing but air.

Harry chokes. He pats down his pocket, and then his other pocket and then the shirt pocket at his breast.

Nothing.

Like a flashback in a bad film, Harry remembers chucking the ring beneath his pillow just before Draco came back into the bedroom while they were packing for the trip.

He has no memory of taking the ring out from under that pillow.

He bloody forgot the ring at home.

  


* * *

**5 + 1.**

* * *

  


Harry sits slumped on their bed, staring at the gleaming ring in its little box. Maybe something’s trying to tell him to give it up, that he shouldn’t do this after all.

A loud yowling noise causes him to look down. Sitting in front of his legs, staring up at him with wide, pale green eyes, is Cassiopeia. She gets up on her back feet and leans her front paws against his knees, yowling again.

“Hey there, Cassie-girl,” he says, and scratches her behind the ear, prompting a loud purr.

“It’s _Cassiopeia!”_ Draco’s voice comes echoing from down the hall.

Harry snorts loudly and shakes his head. Draco’s a real stickler for not shortening Cassie’s name at all.

‘She’ll get confused, Harry!’ he’d say, stomping his foot. ‘Just like you wouldn’t shorten _my_ name to anything, you should let Cassiopeia have her full name!’

Cassie, of course, doesn’t mind. Not to mention that she’s a kneazle and more than intelligent enough to understand her own nickname. Besides, needling Draco this way really makes Harry laugh, so he’s not about to stop doing it. Besides, he’s _sure_ Cassie likes it.

A white paw bats against the ring box so suddenly Harry nearly drops it.

“Hey now, girl, be careful,” Harry murmurs and scratches her again.

Cassie, in typical cat-and-kneazle fashion, completely ignores him and bats at it again. She continues to bat at it, yowling loudly as she does so.

“Harry! Stop being mean to Cassiopeia!” Draco’s voice echoes down the hall again.

Harry rolls his eyes, but looking at Cassiopeia’s interest, he gets an idea.

“Want to help me propose, Cassie-girl?” he murmurs, and gently lifts her into his lap. She purrs loudly and rubs her face against Harry’s. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He brings out his wand and summons a ribbon in red silk. He gently transfigures the ring box so he can hang it on the ribbon, and then he ties it around Cassiopeia’s neck, using his wand to tie it into a magnificent bow.

“There you go, girl. Take that box to Draco for me, will you?” Harry gives her a kiss on the head and puts her down on the floor, watching as she starts to elegantly make her way towards Draco, her tail high in the air like a plume.

He follows after her at a small distance; he doesn’t want Draco to see him, but he wants to see Draco’s reaction.

Cassiopeia is clearly undertaking her task with great dignity and gravitas, and gracefully hops onto the counter in the kitchen, drawing Draco’s attention with a gentle meow and loud purring.

“My, what a lovely bow you’re wearing. What is…” Draco trails off as he catches sight of the ring box hanging from Cassiopeia’s ribbon. Harry watches as Draco’s eyes grow huge and he moves forward slowly, his hands shaking as he gently undoes the ribbon.

Draco’s facial expression cannot be described as anything short of awed as he opens the box and looks inside. He clasps a hand to his mouth.

“Marry me?” Harry murmurs, stepping fully into Draco’s line of vision.

The wide smile that spreads across Draco’s lips as his hand falls away is like the sun coming up after a long, gruelling night. Like the first drop of water in your parched throat.

Suddenly, Harry finds himself with Draco in his arms, clinging around his neck and whispering “yes, yes, yes” over and over.

Harry clutches him close, presses a kiss against his hair, waits for him to pull himself together enough for a _proper_ kiss.

Here, right now, Harry knows that it was worth it.

Every single failure and moment of disappointment was absolutely worth it for this: an overjoyed Draco in his arms, clutching on for dear life, and expressing his want to marry Harry over and over again.

Harry doesn’t cry.

He doesn’t.

Okay, maybe he does just a little bit.

It’ll be his and Draco’s secret.


End file.
